Last night I watched the National Geographic special on 9/11, which is disturbingly like a Jerry Bruckheimer movie. Every time the setting changes—and in the story about worldwide terrorism, this happens about every two minutes—we're treated to a Bruckheimeresque whip-zoom of a satellite map, complete with ominious rat-a-tat-tat percussion to drive home every cut.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
It's complete schlock, right down to the grave, "Behind the Music" voice-overs while we watch terrorists' still photos flapping on flags. Puh-leeze.
I'm sick to death of the media's five minute attention span. Like seemingly every other retrospective on 9/11, this one shows us a bin Laden so consumed by his hatred of the United States, so proudly the architect of our pain, why he actually goaded us into invading Afghanistan so that he could kill some more of us. Am I the only one who remembers him vehemently denying involvement in 9/11 until the day he moronically boasted about it on videotape? Enough with the fairy tale. His famed courage of conviction developed only after he incriminated himself.
